


Some Trust

by enigma731



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Female Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha thinks she ought not to blame anyone who still sees her as a liability, given her past. But this time it <em>does</em> hurt; this time she <em>does</em> feel as though she’s earned better. It’s almost novel.</p><p>(A belated Winter Soldier fill-in ficlet.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



Fury’s bunker is far from the worst place Natasha’s ever spent a night. Mostly it’s damp, and a little cold, because part of remaining undetected means operating on the minimum amount of electricity possible. It’s more extensive than she’s originally realized, though, the hallway stretching beyond the medical portion to a briefing area, rooms with cots, and finally a communal kitchen. 

The whole place has an unfinished feel, with scarce furniture, and bare concrete on the floors. Walking past the few residential rooms, she tries not to look too closely at the beds, tries not to notice how much this place makes her think of her childhood.

Natasha ducks into the kitchen, mostly because she doesn’t think she can face the idea of sleep yet, because the past twenty four hours are still too sharp, still clamoring for attention in her memory. The pain in her shoulder has mostly died down to a dull ache, though she’s refused medication, but it threatens to ignite again with any movement she makes too quickly. At least this room is empty.

There’s food in the kitchen, she isn’t surprised to see. It’s mostly field rations, freeze-dried meals and protein bars, but there are a few luxury items here too. There are containers of what looks like Chinese takeout in the mostly-empty refrigerator, and someone has half of a chocolate bar stashed in a cabinet. Natasha isn’t sure whether to label that misplaced trust or a likely trap. She isn’t hungry, but the tea bags she discovers in a drawer look like too much of a comfort to ignore. She has no idea whether they’re free for the taking or not, but she also doesn’t have the energy to worry about hurting anyone else’s feelings right now. 

Finding a styrofoam cup, she boils water in the microwave--not her usual ritual, but good enough for now. Taking a seat at the kitchen's little table, she watches the tea darken the water in her mug and tugs at the bag’s string half-heartedly. Now that she has the stuff, she doesn’t particularly want to drink it. No matter how she tries to compartmentalize, she knows that what she _really_ wants is for someone to take the past couple of days back, make the order of her word feel true again.

She jumps at the sound of footsteps, turning to see Maria entering the kitchen almost as though she’s been anticipating Natasha’s current thoughts. Telepathy would explain an awful lot of things about how the woman does her job, but Natasha can’t seem to find it in her to laugh at that thought.

“You look better,” says Maria, pulling out the other chair at the table and sitting down. 

Natasha studies her face for a long moment, trying to decide whether this is a coincidence or if Maria’s been looking for her. “Yes. I’ve been told I look good with the old not-bleeding-to-death glow.”

Maria pulls a flask out of her bag and sets it on the table between them, her gaze still appraising. “Vodka. You want some?”

“What is this, a lame attempt at a Russian joke?” Natasha shakes her head, deciding that if Maria’s resorting to drinks in the field, things must be truly dire. The idea of an escape is appealing, but it’s also too dangerous for the same reason she’s refused pain medication--they might all need to be able to respond to an attack at a moment’s notice, and she can’t afford to have anything dulling her judgment or her reflexes right now.

Maria sighs. “None of this is a joke. I know that you know that.”

“Nick--Fury let me think he was dead,” says Natasha, deciding to lay her cards on the table. No point playing games when they will probably all die tomorrow.

“He didn’t have much choice,” says Maria, evenly. “He had to let the world think he’d died in order to be safe.”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees, “but why not bring me in on it? We both know I could have helped. Maybe even prevented the incident that landed him in Medical to begin with.”

“I don’t think anyone would have been able to prevent that,” says Maria. “And he’s had a team of operatives in place for this contingency for several months now.”

“Then why wasn’t I one of them?” Natasha repeats, the pitch of her voice rising despite her efforts at remaining calm. She can’t deny the sting of this decision, the disappointment and anger that are boiling just beneath the surface of everything she’ll need to do to protect herself now.

“It wasn’t my decision,” says Maria. “You want Fury’s opinion, ask Fury.”

“Okay,” she agrees, though she’s only partly convinced, feels even more betrayal over the fact that this place and its crew have had that trust for months now, possibly even years. “But you helped him. You helped him cover it up. From me.”

“I followed orders,” says Maria, a look on her face that Natasha can’t quite read. “I know you know how that works.”

“Am I a liability, then?” asks Natasha, finally giving in to the doubt that’s been slowly hollowing out her chest since she saw Fury in Medical. “Fury thinks I might be HYDRA, or that I might go rogue in light of recent _developments_?” She thinks she ought not to blame anyone who still sees her that way, given her past. But this time it _does_ hurt; this time she _does_ feel as though she’s earned better. It’s almost novel.

Maria hesitates, fidgeting with the cap on her flask of vodka for a moment. “Not in the way you think.”

“But I am,” Natasha repeats, the reality of that statement settling coldly in the pit of her stomach.

“He had to keep the circle small,” says Maria. “And you--Well, you come with a team lately. A team outside of S.H.I.E.L.D..”

“And what does that make Steve, then?” asks Natasha.

“Fury feels confident that Rogers will keep his word.”

“Oh, good,” Natasha snaps, though she immediately regrets her tone. “But he questions whether I would. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“For the record,” Maria says, meeting her gaze, “if it was my call, I would have wanted you on the team from the beginning.”

Natasha swallows, still struggling to process this new information. She’s angry at Fury, mostly--for not bringing her in to begin with, for giving her no choice but to stand and fight now.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to kill me,” says Natasha, the words feeling surreal in her mouth, like she’s trying each one out for the first time. “Thought I was past the phase where my employers tried to do that.”

“I _am_ sorry,” says Maria, reaching out a hand, then thinking better of it and resting it on the table instead. “I know this won’t be easy for any of us. I know you care about Fury. He cares about you too.”

“Oh good,” Natasha says bitterly. “Do I win a prize?”

“You should talk to him,” Maria says firmly. “That’s what I actually came here to say. He may have screwed up in the beginning, but we all need you now.”

“I’ll think about it,” says Natasha, though in truth she’s already decided that she needs to see Fury again, alone. 

Maria nods once, then gets to her feet. She makes it halfway to the door before turning around again. “Natasha? You need anything, let me know.”

“I won’t,” says Natasha, deciding that needing anything from S.H.I.E.L.D. has just secured itself a slot on the top of her list of things to avoid.

“Fury needs _you_ , though,” says Maria. “He may not always want to admit it, but he does.”

Natasha remains silent this time, mulling the words over. She watches Maria’s back recede into the hallway, then gets slowly to her feet. 

She dumps her untouched mug of tea into the sink, and wishes she were able to read the leaves.


End file.
